The Devil's Contract
by PrisonerPadfoot
Summary: A collection of drabbles and one-shots featuring the cast of Kuroshitsuji. Most will be shinigami-centric. NEWEST: William tries to enforce the dress code.
1. Working Overtime

**Originally posted to LJ on March 22, 2010.  
**

* * *

When William began his training as a shinigami his mentor had told him, between giggles, that he was a hundred times more likely to be struck by lightning than to reap a soul that would be reborn into a shinigami, especially since he would mostly be working in the dispatch department. In a way, William almost wished he had been struck by lightning instead. It probably would have been less agonizing than training Grell Sutcliff.

William sighed and closed his eyes, pushing his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose. He heard a faint snipping noise, and when he opened his eyes again pieces of cinematic record were floating into the air, detached from the man they were passing judgment on. William's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"This death scythe is so average," the red reaper beside him mused, twirling his scythe around. "I wonder if there's a way to modify it…"

"Mr. Sutcliff!" William yelled, and Grell cringed away from him. "You obviously have not listened to one word I've said. You must watch at least five years worth of cinematic record before passing judgment! Now look what you've done," he said, gesturing toward the fresh corpse. With a sigh, he stamped the man's judgment as complete, despite the botched job Grell had done.

"But Will! This one's life was so _boring_! I don't want to sit through that!" Grell whined and spun around on his heel, latching on to William's arm. "I want to see something more dramatic!"

Grell looked up at him with that deadly smile, but William only scoffed. He roughly pulled out of Grell's hold, letting him fall flat on his face. Grell sat up and adjusted his glasses, feeling the bridge of his nose to make sure it wasn't broken.

"That's no way to treat a lady!" Grell yelled.

"The files on record with the office have you listed as male, so that is what I treat you as. And do not call me _Will_."

"Fine, _William_," Grell said, and took a hold of William's left leg. William kicked him away, and Grell whimpered.

"We're wasting time. We have eleven more souls to reap tonight, and I've worked overtime the last three nights because of your incompetence. Hopefully I can clock out on time today…"

William started down the alleyway with Grell yelling after him, his heels clicking wildly on the cobblestones.

It was going to be another long night of overtime.


	2. Color My World

**Originally posted to LJ on April 1, 2010.  
**

* * *

The whore's skin yielded beautifully under the pressure of her scalpel. Blood seeped out from the precise incision to stain the dull cobblestones a brilliant red, the color of death and life alike. Enough spilled crimson and one was sure to meet their end, but it was a vibrant color, so lively, so beautiful as it pooled on the moonlit street. Blood was the only thing that was beautiful about the women she was killing. Everything else was ugly, rotten, foul. Why should they deserve to live when they would willingly throw away something so precious, what she herself wanted so badly but could never have?

The Madam set to work with careful swiftness, slicing expertly to remove that delicate organ...

"My, my madam...."

The voice from behind startled her into dropping her scalpel. She found him perched on the pinnacle of the church, wearing a smile that chilled her to the bone. She knew immediately that he was not human and there was no doubting what he truly was, not with all the death that followed the Madam around.

He was a reaper, an agent of death colored in the most appropriate of hues. The color of life and death, the same color that bled across the entire stage of the tragedy that was her life. The color she both loved and despised.

He leaped down to the street effortlessly, and the Madam was too shocked to resist as he took her into his arms.

"Let me help you..."

The Madam yielded to Death's embrace, and allowed him to color her entire world red with blood.


	3. Forgotten Corpses

**Originally posted to LJ on April 5, 2010.  
**

* * *

The small casket had been brought into his shop just that afternoon, laid out on the floor amongst a dozen or so others. They were the bodies of the forgotten, the unrecognizable, the lonely people that died as London burned and had no kin to claim their corpses. It had been nearly three months since the fire had consumed England, three months since the Queen's dog and his demon had gone to battle with her majesty's renegade angel, and yet the bodies of these forgotten people were still piling up. The Undertaker did not mind. He enjoyed his work, and some of the corpses he was tending to were quite magnificent.

He lifted the lid from the smallest coffin and his face was split by a ridiculously wide grin. He had been told that the poor lad's body had been found drifting along in the Thames. No one had come forth to identify him, and none of the policeman that dragged his body out from the water had recognized him in such a state. But the Undertaker knew who he was just fine. Even beneath the ragged clothing and the sallow and moldy skin, Undertaker could tell who this bloated child's corpse had once been.

"Well hello there," he said. "I didn't expect to be seeing you again."

Undertaker cocked his head slightly and ran a claw-like fingernail over the corpse's cheek. "May I have a look?" he asked. He took the silence for a yes.

The Undertaker brushed the child's hair from his face and gently peeled back the right eyelid, being careful not tear any of the fragile skin. The eye, though it was hiding beneath a milky white film, was clearly blue. A brilliant blue and nothing more. Undertaker laughed to himself, closing the child's eye again.

He stepped away for a moment to retrieve his death scythe from the cupboard across the room. He passed the death scythe over the boy's body in a swift arc. Not to his surprise, a cinematic record came pouring out, unwinding over the edge of the coffin and spilling across the floor. The reel was short, as it always was for someone who had lived such a brief life, and the film was blank. The soul had departed from the body, yes, but it had not yet passed on into Heaven or Hell. The soul was not at peace, and it never would be. The boy's soul was probably in the belly of a certain demon, sentient and writhing in horror, yet unable to free itself and move into the next world. It was sure to be an agonizing eternity for it. Undertaker did not bother to sever the cinematic record. Doing so wouldn't do the boy's soul any good.

"Hehe," the Undertaker tittered. "Did I not warn you to keep your soul safe, Earl Phantomhive?"

Despite all the other coffins laying around, he would tend to the earl first. He laid the death scythe aside and went around the shop gathering various beakers and urns, casually starting a conversation with the earl.

"They held a funeral for you, you know," the Undertaker spoke to him. "The coffin was empty, of course. I dug you a grave right next to the Madam. I believe that would have made her happy, to be buried beside you. But I don't think the same could be said for you. What do you say?"

Arms laden with various items, Undertaker stared down at the earl. The Queen's beloved dog had become nothing more than a common cur in death. The Undertaker smiled.

Perhaps, after he tidied up the body a bit, he would give the little earl a second funeral. A modest grave with a blank headstone in a forgotten, serene corner of the cemetery. A nice, peaceful resting place. Yes, that would do just fine.


	4. The Maid and the Mortician

**Originally posted to LJ on April 12th, 2010.  
**

* * *

As a child, a robin had flown through her bedroom window. She remembered how she had admired it perched on her bedpost, chirping a cheerful melody before flying off into the early morning sun. It was a beautiful little bird.

It wasn't until she was older that she learned the pretty bird on her bedpost was a harbinger of an early death.

She was one never to walk under ladders. She threw a pinch of salt over her shoulder each time she overturned the container. Despite her habit of shattering expensive chinaware, she was careful never to shatter a mirror. She tried her best to avoid black cats. And so she also expected death to catch up to her sooner rather than later. But when Death finally found her, the chill that ran down her spine was not one of fear.

Death had a laugh that could kill and a smile to match. His gaze, so often hidden behind a curtain of soft silver, was otherworldly. Not many had looked Death in his golden eyes and lived. He was like a character from one of those cheap horror books she often read before bed, the ones that always gave her scary, exciting nightmares.

He had said she would make a lovely corpse one day, and showed her that being well-acquainted with Death was not a particularly bad thing. In fact, it was quite exciting.

When he offered her a nap in one of his coffins she could not help but yield to the temptation. As he said, one need not be dead to appreciate a well-made coffin.

"Make me laugh dear lady, and I'll give you whatever it is you want," he chuckled. Long black nails ran across soft red satin.

She did much more than make him laugh.


	5. Of Master and Servant

**Originally posted to LJ on May 3rd, 2010.  
**

* * *

It was a dangerous game played between Master and Servant.

Both would push the boundaries of the contract that bound them, an agreement willfully forged in the young Master's eye and in the back of the skilled Servant's hand. The servant dutifully followed orders even if it meant his young Master would suffer some pain in process. The young Master was intent on one day giving on order that not even a demon and a butler could follow through with. Each wanted to see the other stumble and fall, yet at the same time failure was never an option for either of them.

To outsiders, even to the steward, the maid and the gardener, it was clear who was Master and who was Servant. The demon in disguise bowed to the mortal who commanded his servitude, and the boy Master wielded his side of the contract as an otherworldly weapon. Both carried themselves to fit their positions in the mortal world, but both knew there would come a day when their roles would be blurred by fire and brimstone. Then the Master would have his debt to pay.

When the time came for the contract to be fulfilled, for the young earl's eyes to be opened to the true face of Hell and his soul to be whisked away by a demon's kiss, Master would serve and Servant would feast, and the Devil himself would laugh at the idea of an Apostle of Hell being in anyone's service.


	6. Black Robes and Red Lace

**Originally posted to LJ May 14th, 2010.**

* * *

Ever since the incident in the Library, it seemed that Grell Sutcliff had become his almost constant companion.

The Undertaker rather enjoyed the red reaper's company. He was much more amusing to have around than that stuffy William, anyway. Grell had an appreciation for the beauty in death that the Undertaker hadn't seen in a long time, and he came to think of Grell as an apprentice of his. Grell would sit around the shop and look on as the Undertaker worked, occasionally commenting on a particularly bloody corpse or serving him a beaker of tea. All the while Grell was continuously, and not-so-subtly, attempting to get another glimpse at his eyes. The Undertaker was amused at Grell's willfulness in the matter, and he was all too glad to play along. Feigning obliviousness and thwarting Grell's attempts was quite hilarious, especially when Grell pouted so thoroughly afterwards.

Once as he was sitting at his desk crafting a small momento mori brooch, Grell had sprawled himself across the desk like a cat stretching out in the sun. Just as Grell's gloved hand wandered up to brush back his bangs, the Undertaker rose from his seat and pretended to search for a pair of shears he had misplaced, leaving Grell's hand to fall flat on the desk. And so the little game went.

Undertaker did not expect today to be any different. He heard the door to the shop open and Grell call out his giddy hello, but when he stepped out from the kitchen and onto the shop floor Grell was nowhere in sight. He cocked his head and looked around confusedly for a moment before he heard the slight creak of a coffin lid being pulled closed. He went to the custom coffin that he always kept leaning up on the back wall and pulled it open.

A grin spread across his face at the sight waiting for him. Grell was a splash of red against the black coffin lining, dressed in women's lace-up boots, a corset, and some very frilly undergarments. Grell reached out and knotted his hand in the long tail of the Undertaker's hat, using it to the pull the silver-haired mortician closer. The Undertaker tittered, and Grell returned the smile.

"I'll see those gorgeous eyes yet, my dear Undertaker! _Kya_!" Grell said giddily. Grell tugged at his hat again, and the coffin lid closed in a flash of black robes and red lace.


	7. Cemetery Dance

**Originally posted to LJ on May 19th, 2010.  
**

* * *

When he visited the small London shop only to find the doors locked, Grell knew that there was only one logical place to look for his beloved Undertaker. He walked the few blocks to the cemetery under the cover of his bright red umbrella. It was a gray and foggy day, the rain falling around him a drizzly mist. It was just the sort of weather Grell would expect his lovely silver Death God to be out enjoying.

Grell nearly skipped through the cemetery gates, and many a languid mourner cast him a strange glance for his bright clothing and matching smile in such a dreary place. Grell barely noticed them.

It wasn't long before he found his black-clad Romeo off tending to a grave beneath a large willow tree. The Undertaker was standing waist-deep in the open grave, shovel in hand and lantern perched on a nearby headstone. His back was to Grell, and a devilish idea popped into the red reaper's head. He approached Undertaker as quietly as he could manage, trying to keep his heels from squishing in the earth. Just as he was close enough to pounce, the Undertaker flung a shovelful of dirt over his shoulder. Grell squealed and hopped out of the way to avoid being hit with it.

"Come to watch me work, eh?" the Undertaker smiled as he turned around.

Grell stomped his foot and turned out his bottom lip, pouting. "Oh, you spoiled my fun!"

"Did I?" the Undertaker laughed.

Undertaker laid his shovel down beside the grave and climbed out. He seated himself beneath the willow tree and Grell skipped over to him. Grell gleefully sat himself in the Undertaker's lap, holding his umbrella up over both of their heads to shield them from the droplets falling from the weepy branches.

"Spoiling my fun and almost getting dirt in my beautiful hair," Grell huffed, twirling a finger around in the Undertaker's braid, "I think you owe me some compensation."

"I suppose so," the Undertaker hummed. Grell nearly squealed as the Undertaker curled a hand around his waist. "Now, I wonder what it could be that you want…"

Grell could hardly contain himself at the Undertaker's handsome smirk. Forsaking the umbrella, he threw his arms around the Undertaker's neck and kissed him.

In the end Grell wound up getting dirt in his hair anyway, but all things considered, he didn't really mind by then.


	8. Death and the Demon

**Originally posted to LJ June 5th, 2010.**

* * *

Lau and the Madam had been taking turns trying to make him laugh for nearly an hour. Lau's puns and the Madam's gossip became staler and more ridiculously unfunny as time went on and eventually the Undertaker became so tired of their lame attempts that he slapped a few spare surgical masks over their mouths so they would stay quiet.

"It can't be helped," Sebastian said, rising from his seat atop a coffin.

"Oh, is it the butler's turn now?" the Undertaker smiled.

"Everyone, please step outside for a moment," Sebastian said. "You absolutely must not peek inside."

"Sebastian…" Ciel began, but before he could say anymore Sebastian had placed a hand at the small of the earl's back and turned him around, promptly shooing him out of the Undertaker's shop.

Sebastian then saw Lau and Madam Red out the door, as well the Madam's butler who wasn't really a butler at all, much like Sebastian himself. He closed the door behind them as the Undertaker sat himself at his desk. He poured another beaker of tea for himself and motioned for Sebastian to sit back down on one of the scattered coffins.

"So your name is Sebastian now," the Undertaker said with a smile. "Wasn't that the name of the young earl's dog?"

"It was," Sebastian grimaced.

"You've changed a lot from the last time we met," the Undertaker said, and Sebastian made no reply.

His name had not been Sebastian back then. He had been all blond curls and wide blue eyes, a beast in the body of small and seemingly helpless innocent, much unlike the dark and towering figure he now hid behind. He had been a constant at his mistress's side, much like he was a constant at the earl's side now.

"I assume the earl is unaware of your previous master," the Undertaker said.

"He is," Sebastian replied, his expression darkening. "And he shall remain unaware until our contract comes to a close."

"Are you implying that I would reveal your contract to Miss Claudia?"

"I don't think you would," Sebastian scowled, cracking his knuckles. "But I will make sure you don't."

The Undertaker had no plans to speak to Ciel about his grandmother's affairs with demons. Actually, he was inclined to believe the boy would figure it out on his own sooner rather than later. Even so, the Undertaker was not too keen on being threatened by the creature sitting in front of him.

The demon knew very well that even he could not stand to the likes of Death itself, and the Undertaker was all to happy to remind him of it.

The Undertaker cocked his head slightly and grinned. The yellowish glow of his eyes peeked out from beneath the fringe of his hair. "Is that so?"

The Undertaker rose from his seat and went to stand behind the demon. With a giggle, he slowly curled his hand on Sebastian's shoulder. Sebastian straightened his back and hardened his expression at the touch. Even though being Death did not come with the ability to read minds, the Undertaker was certain of what was going through the demon's thoughts. He was most likely recalling the very first time he and the Undertaker had met.

It was the thirteenth century when he had walked the earth to spread the plague in his wake. He had killed half the population of Europe for the sheer fun of it, gobbling up the souls of the countless deceased as he went. It wasn't until a silver scythe had been driven into his belly that his gluttony had come to an end. That silver scythe had dragged all of the stolen souls out from his body, leaving him so weak that he was unable to hold any sort of shape, and giving him no choice but to rot in Hell for years upon years until he had finally recovered enough strength to move again…

Yes, that was most likely what the demon was thinking about.

The Undertaker brushed his fingers across Sebastian's cheek and a shiver ran down the demon's spine, making him shudder ever so slightly. This small show of weakness did not escape the Undertaker, who quickly erupted into maniacal laughter. Sebastian growled and rose almost violently from his seat, his fists clenched at his sides. The Undertaker sat back down behind his desk and collapsed down on top of it, his entire frame shaking with chuckles.

Straightening his vest, Sebastian went to the door to fetch the others.


	9. Another Day at the Office

**Written for fanfic_bakeoff on livejournal. Originally posted July 9th, 2010.  
**

* * *

Seeing the straitlaced William T. Spears in such a state was ridiculously amusing. His hair was sticking up in all directions, his tie was crooked and his jacket was unbuttoned, but what the silver-haired reaper found the most amusing was the red lip print on his cheek. The Undertaker was almost sorry that today was his last day at the office. It might be worth putting off retirement to see how the strange relationship of his two protégés progressed.

As William sat down behind his desk, the Undertaker burst into laughter. William's eyes narrowed at his superior, who was now doubled over on top of his own desk.

"Sir?" William asked, adjusting his glasses.

"It seems Sutcliff has taken quite a shine to you, William," the Undertaker said. He reached over and poked William's cheek. William leaned out of the Undertaker's reach and wiped the lipstick away with his handkerchief.

"Unfortunately," William sighed. "He is quite the incompetent worker."

"Hmm…" the Undertaker mused. He had recovered enough from his fit of laughter to stand up and resume packing his things. "Perhaps Miss Sutcliff is just overly enthusiastic and in need of proper direction?"

William started fiddling with his glasses. "With all due respect Sir, I think it's just incompetence."

"Oh _William_!"

Both reapers looked up at the red whirlwind racing down the hall. William had little time to react before Grell bowled him over and out of his chair.

"I finished the reports you wanted! Well, most of them…" the red reaper purred. William was absolutely seething.

William brought his scythe down atop Grell's head, but not before another set of lip prints appeared on his cheek and collar.

The Undertaker was laughing so hard that curling up under his desk was the only thing that could calm him down. He thought he might miss these typical days at the office.


	10. Spilled Tea

**Written for fanfic_bakeoff on livejournal. Originally posted July 15th, 2010.  
**

* * *

The tray fell from his hands with a clatter, splattering tea upon the carpet and the hem of his mistress' favorite nightgown. He knew he should have gotten to work immediately to clean up the mess, but with the Madam's hand being where it was, he found it very difficult to think straight much less to move.

"Madam, _please_," Grell pleaded, though in truth he had no idea what he was asking of her. "I must clean up this mess-"

The Madam's hand gripped him even more firmly, and suddenly it became very difficult for him to hold his disguise. He could feel his teeth slipping back into their normal sharp points, and a pinch of red began peeking into his bangs.

"Oh, Grell. The tea was likely to be dreadful anyway. You're a terrible butler," the Madam said, and with a firm push to his chest she forced him to sit down beside her on the loveseat. "But you are an excellent accomplice."

Grell pushed himself back into the cushions as the Madam cuddled up to him. She held that day's newspaper up for him to see. Jack the Ripper had made the headlines again, along with a photo of a small street in Whitechapel that was stained with blood.

The newspaper was tossed aside and she was in his lap, her red lips almost touching his. To say that he was confused was an understatement. He adored her, but as one friend adored another. The thought of having her like this had never crossed his mind. But the shine of adoration in her eyes was something no one had ever gazed upon him with before, and the tension slowly eased out of his body.

She took his face in her hands and kissed him, and he didn't resist.


	11. Tea and Cookies

**Written for a community on deviantart. Originally posted August 24th, 2010.  
**

* * *

He was welcomed into the shop by a wayward cobweb fluttering into his hair. He quickly brushed it away, frowning. It was the first time in a long time that he has been in the Undertaker's shop, and it was just as well. Despite all the respect he held for the elder Death God, William could not help but feel a bit disgusted at the condition he kept his place of business in. There were cobwebs in every corner while all of the shelves, not to mention the floor and the scattered caskets, were lined with a thick layer of dust.

William sighed and took a look around, his hand tightening on the binder he was holding. The sooner he got the Undertaker to sign his overtime reports, the sooner he could get out of this disaster area. Hopefully he wasn't hiding in one of the coffins again.

"Sir?" William called into the dank room. There was no answer.

He went over the coffin that was propped up on the back wall and slowly pulled it open. He found it empty, but noticed that there was a dim light shining out from beneath the door next to it. He closed the coffin and knocked softly on the door. No one answered but he could hear voices from within, though he could not make out exactly what was being said. He leaned his ear against the door and quickly recognized the Undertaker's laughter. He did not expect to hear the second, grating voice.

"Oh Undertaker, you do know how to treat a lady," came the voice of Grell Sutcliff, following by a girlish giggle.

William grimaced. A small part of brain was telling him it would be unwise to open the door. Another, larger part of his brain, was telling him that it would be a waste of time to leave without getting what he had came for in the first place. Slowly, he pushed the door open.

The kitchen on the other side of the door was cleaner than the rest of the shop, though not clean enough for William's liking. he found the Undertaker pulling a tray out from the ovens, his hands stuffed inside a pair of pink oven mitts. Grell was sitting at the table over a dish of cookies and a beaker of tea. William sighed and adjusted his glasses.

"Ahh William, how nice of you to visit," the Undertaker smiled. He held the tray of bone-shaped cookies out to William. "Cookie?"

William's eyes moved from the laden tray to the table, where a blob of unrolled dough and another tray of unbaked cookies was sitting. He wrinkled his nose.

"You haven't had any customers laid out on this table before, have you?" he asked.

The Undertaker burst into mad laughter, tilting the tray and letting a cookie slide out onto the floor where it broke into multiple pieces. He put the tray on the table and shoved the next tray in the oven for baking. He was still laughing when he took off his mitts and started rolling out the massive blob of dough. Grell was snickering with him, oblivious to the glare William was giving him.

"Sutcliff," William barked, grabbing Grell by the collar of his vest. Grell flinched and let out a whine. "What are you doing here? Weren't you on an assignment?"

"I've finished my assignment for the night!" Grell said, pulling out of William's hold and straightening his vest.

"It's the truth. He was even so kind as to bring me the body. Wasn't that nice?" the Undertaker said, cutting the rolled dough into shapes.

"I suppose," William sighed. "Sir, if you would sign these overtime reports for me, I'll be on my way," William said. He opened the binder of paperwork on a clean portion of the table, but the Undertaker continued cutting out cookies as though he didn't notice it.

"Why the rush, Will?" Grell said, and William suddenly found his arm in a crimson vice, Grell's cheek pressed firmly up against his forearm. "Why don't you stay with us awhile?"

As William pulled out of Grell's hold, his elbow hit Grell's full beaker of tea, overturning it. William watched in silent horror as the liquid splashed across the reports, dying them an ugly peachy-brown color.

"Well, isn't that a shame?" the Undertaker laughed. "Guess you'll have to make some more copies."

William grumbled, a vein throbbing at his temple. He barely noticed that Grell was hugging at his arm again. The Undertaker held a cookie under William's nose and waved it around.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like one?" he asked, and he and Grell were laughing again.

William sighed, trying to block out the giggling of the two lunatics on either side of him. After this wasted trip he was going to have another set of overtime reports to fill out.


	12. Under His Thumb

**Written for Kurohedonism on livejournal. Originally posted on August 11th, 2010**

* * *

Alois smiled at the little creature as it squirmed in helpless agony. Its many eyes stared up at him from where it was it was pinned, the tip of Alois' quill running through one of its legs like an ink-tipped spear. Alois twisted the quill slightly and its many legs flailed in a painful tap dance. It lurched its rounded body this way and that in search of escape, but didn't have the strength to free itself.

Such a fucking pathetic creature.

A frown darkened the young earl's brow. He looked up at the butler standing before him, the golden-eyed man holding a laden tea tray. Claude's back was perfectly straight, his clothes perfectly in place, his face so perfectly expressionless. He was standing there so regally, as though he was the manor's royalty. As though he was the one who should have been sitting in the padded chair behind the mahogany desk.

Alois smiled wickedly and plucked the quill from the spider's leg. He let it scuttle a little way toward the edge of the desk before he set out to catch it. He brought his thumb down on top of its bulbous body and pressed down, ripping open its belly and smearing its black innards over his desk. Alois lifted up his hand and one of its legs clung fast to his thumb. He giggled and climbed atop the desk, leaning so that he and his butler were eye to eye.

"Are you angry, Claude?" Alois teased, pinching Claude's cheek with his clean hand. He placed his lips to Claude's ear as he spoke. "He wasn't family, was he?"

"No, your Highness," Claude said, taking Alois hand and moving it gently away from his face. Claude's lack of emotion was not very pleasing.

Alois wiped his thumb slowly across Claude's white shirt, leaving a black smear of spider guts behind, including the one stubborn leg.

"That's funny," Alois said, settling back down in his chair. "You both have so much in common," he said.

Claude's eyes widened for a moment, a fleeting second that did not escape Alois' notice. Claude sighed and ran a hand through his hair as Alois threw back his head and laughed. Claude set down the tea tray he was holding, diligently pouring his master a cup before excusing himself from the room. He gently closed the door, separating himself from Alois's laughter.

Claude knew his master's foresight was lacking. He may have been the master, but with these things it was always the servant who feasted like royalty in the end. In time, Alois would learn that he was no insect to be crushed beneath his finger. Pushing his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose, Claude sighed and set down the hallway toward the kitchens. It was time to prepare the master's supper. Not before changing his shirt, of course.


	13. Pain

**Originally posted on livejournal November 24th, 2010.  
**

* * *

As a butler of the Phantomhive household, it was only natural that he would be able to perform such an unpleasant task in order to retrieve the information his Master required. Though truth be told, he had hoped it would not come to this.

First he had tried prying information out of the dimwit with the two-toned hair, but the young Reaper proved to be more staunch than he appeared. Dealing with that Spears fellow was out of the question, and Sebastian doubted the Undertaker had any access to the Death Lists now that he was retired, or that he would reveal any information about them even with a good laugh behind him. He was a strange one, but not an idiot.

That disgusting, despicable excuse for a Reaper was the only weak link. If he wanted to retrieve the information he sought, he realized that Grell Sutcliff was his only way of obtaining it.

That was why he now found himself pinned naked beneath the grinning Death God. Seducing Sutcliff had been all too easy. Finding the strength to withstand being undressed by him was not. The Reaper's crimson hair was pooled around his groin, making his skin nearly crawl with disgust. He had completely discarded his dignity for this assignment. When it came time for the Young Master's soul to be his, he would not forget this awful moment.

Grell's hands trailed down his chest and Sebastian felt his composure beginning to slip away. Even a butler of Phantomhive could only take so much. He backhanded Grell so hard that the Reaper's head whipped violently backwards. When Grell turned back to look down at him, his hands were covering his nose and mouth, and there was blood running out from between his fingers. His eyes were pure malice, but when he lowered his hands there was a wicked smile on his face. Blood ran from his nose in a stream, falling in tiny droplets upon Sebastian's exposed flesh.

"You horrible fiend," Grell said. Sebastian was taken aback as Grell took him by the throat, those long red nails cutting deep crescents into his flesh. "How dare you hit a lady like that! Pleasure is pain my darling, but do spare a woman her beauty."

A smile touched Sebastian's lips. Pleasure was pain, eh? Perhaps this experience wouldn't be as unpleasant as he thought.


	14. Adored by Death

**Originally posted on livejournal August 29th, 2010.  
**

* * *

One last button and it was done. She stepped back to better see The Red Death in all his glory. He stood before her mirror in a dress of fine ruffled silk, lace evening gloves pulled up to his elbows. His crimson locks were pinned atop his head, a single red rose serving as the final delicate touch.

It was quite a change from the clumsy man who ruined her carpets with spilled tea and broken dishes. The Madam smiled and sighed. It felt a bit strange that Grell should look better in one of her dresses than she herself did.

"I must say, you do look quite stunning in this dress," she said.

"Oh Madam, you are too kind," Grell purred, placing his hands on hips and striking an alluring pose. "But this dress is the most beautiful color. It's only natural that I would look gorgeous in it."

He blew his reflection a kiss before he snatched one of the Madam's decorative fans from her dresser. He fluttered his long lashes coyly above the spread fan, giving a small wink.

"Perhaps you look a little bit too wonderful in it," she said, crossing her arms and turning up her nose, appraising him.

Grell turned around to face her, giving her a rather strange look.

"Now what's that supposed to mean?" he asked. After a moment, his eyes narrowed and he half-hid his face with the fan again. "You're not jealous, are you?"

"Perhaps the tiniest bit," she smirked. She went to him and plucked at the lace at his neck, smoothing it. Soon her hand was traveling lower, down his ribbed bodice and around to its laces that she had tied so lovingly for him. She pulled the bow out slowly. "I never did thank you properly for all you've done for me, have I?"

"Madam, I believe this is thanks enough-"

"Nonsense."

She stood on her toes so that her lips brushed ever so slightly against his cheek. He tried to step back from her but she had taken him tightly by the waist, pressing all her weight against him. They tumbled to the floor together, a cascade of crimson upon the white carpet.

"Madam, I don't think this is-ohh!"

She ran her hand slowly up beneath his gown, pushing aside the crimson ruffles to run fingertips over his delightfully smooth thigh. Her touch was rough, enough to leave pretty red welts upon his pale skin. She kissed him just as roughly, her teeth leaving red blossoms upon his collarbone and neck. She was delighted to find him without proper undergarments, and there her touch was just as rough.

He writhed beneath her, and the Madam took pleasure in the expression on his face. Half pleasure, half pain. Rapture. His mouth was parted slightly, one sharp tooth cutting into his bottom lip. Blood ran down his chin and she kissed it away.

Those teeth soon drew blood from her own lips, and Angelina Durless came to know what it was to be truly adored by Death.


	15. Business Casual

**Originally posted to LJ on February 1st, 2011.**

* * *

At first he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

Grell Sutcliff sitting down quietly at a desk and diligently going through the day's paperwork was something William had rarely, if ever, seen before. That occurrence in and of itself was shocking, but it was not what made him raise his eyebrows. Even after he had taken nearly ten minutes out of yesterday's busy schedule to lecture Grell on the importance of sticking to the established dress code, the red-haired Reaper still dared to come into work looking like…._this_.

He moved to stand directly behind Grell, who didn't seem to hear him approach.

"Sutcliff!" William barked, and he could have sworn he saw a few of Grell's hairs stand straight on end.

Grell swiveled around in her chair, blinking huge green doe eyes at him and sporting a side grin. She sprang up from her chair, clasping her hands together in front of her. William couldn't help but notice that she had painted her nails that awfully obnoxious shade of red she loved so much. In fact, she was painted entirely from head to toe in it. She was wearing a red turtleneck sweater beneath a matching blazer, a red skirt with black stockings, and of course her usual red and black boots. There was even a red rose pinned into her hair, which was pulled back into a modest bun. So much red on one person was almost blinding.

"William, good morning!" Grell nearly sang.

William adjusted his glasses with his death scythe, the furrow in his brow deepening considerably. "Sutcliff, do you or do you not remember what we talked about yesterday?" he asked.

"Of course I remember!" Grell said.

"Than why-?" William began, readying himself for another wasted ten minutes. But he was cut off when Grell spun around to shuffle around the things on her desk. She turned back around to face him and held up the copy of the Reaper's Code he had given her the day before. It was the handbook outlining all the rules and regulations of the Reaper Association. The way some of the people around this office acted, William guessed that he was the only one that had ever bothered to actually read the thing.

"I read the section on dress code," Grell said, handing the book back to him. "Business casual with closed-toed shoes, and I even pinned my hair back. See?" she said, delicately patting her hair. She touched one painted nail to his chest, giving him a teasing poke. "I can follow directions if I want to. I'm actually glad I did! Don't I look just _fabulous _in this outfit?"

William could feel his left eye beginning to twitch.

"Now, what did you want to talk to me about?" Grell asked.

"Nothing, Sutcliff. Never mind," William said. He turned quickly around, meaning to head back to his office and finish his day's work, but instead he found himself face to face with Ronald Knox.

"Hey, Mr. Spears! I managed to find that file you wanted!" Ronald said, holding up a stack of paper of for William to see. His smile faded when he got a good look at William's face. "Dude, your nose is bleeding," he said matter-of-factly.

William used his death scythe to shove Ronald out of the way. Ronald and Grell watched as he stomped down the hall, disappearing around the corner and into the maze of cubicles.

"What's the matter with him?" Ronald asked, cocking his head slightly. Grell smiled, putting her hand on his one shoulder and resting her head on the other.

"Oh, I have _no _idea, Ronnie dear. _No _idea at all," she laughed. "I suppose I must be a bit too fabulous for him, that's all."


End file.
